


you’ll save him, and he’ll save you

by eyeballboba



Category: OMORI (Video Game)
Genre: Bathroom Scene, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeballboba/pseuds/eyeballboba
Summary: When Sunny walks into Basil's room, he knows what he's going to do. Basil knows, too.
Relationships: Basil & Sunny (OMORI)
Kudos: 81





	you’ll save him, and he’ll save you

“-- something behind you,” Basil hisses into your ear as his fingers claw into your shoulder.

 _It’s you_ , you correct in your head as you twist away, bringing up your arms. 

“Sunny... Sunny wouldn't... do something like that.” Basil tells you how he’ll protect you. 

But you did kill her, didn’t you? 

You don’t have the strength to tell him what you did. 

You want to run… but you know you can’t.

All you can do is save him.

Basil is a grabber, wraps his fingers around your arms and your neck while you flail, trying to throw him off, pin his snakey strangling fingers under something. You look over your shoulder and see **_something_ ** floating, moving as you move. It’s hiding behind you. Basil, all long fingers and intent, has to reach through you to get to it. The thing surrounding Basil grows as he moves, its teeth squeezing his organs into his fingers. 

He tries to grab at you but you’re crushing him when he doesn’t punch, moving where he doesn’t try to pin you down. All he has is fingers, dodging, pulling, spidery, grabbing fingers. You feel a bloom of sadness even as you’re afraid. 

He’s always been grabby. He likes to hold hands, hold things, likes when he doesn’t have to fight to hold onto them, likes to hold hands _sweat-cold touch_ when he’s scared. You’ve never been good at reaching out like he does. When he does you used to listen to his words, and let him hold your hand, and when you lost that you didn’t really miss it. You don’t want to remember it. You knew what the end of that path was. If you could find happiness it’d be without the **_something_ ** that consumes you both. 

Basil coughs where you elbowed him in the neck. **_Something_ ** hisses around him daringly. Basil’s eyes shift from looking up at you from where he’s doubled over to where **_something_ ** behind you is peeking out curiously. 

He lunges. 

If you had your knife this could go so much faster. You’ve done it haven’t you once, twice, five times in your head. Basil’s died to you, to your friends, and died and died and died. The thought is piercing your skull. If you were to hesitate, if you felt scared again it’d make everything worse. You might not be able to save Basil. This is why you practiced. You had to save him.

Why is it squeezing around your head? **_Something_ ** squelches and separates like week-old pudding under both your feet. You planned this. You wanted this. It won’t let you go, because _one of you has to save the other._

And you can’t be so selfish and make him take the burden again. It’s already eating him up. He’s fingers and hands now, reaching into you. You’ve been stilling yourself, practicing, and even if you can’t calm down you still have the fluidity of it recorded in beneath. Practice a thing often enough and you’ll see it beneath your thoughts and emotions and fears. 

Basil doesn’t have that. 

With him and with you, even with the pain circling your skull, you know you’re going to win. You’re too much that Basil isn’t, and that much is a _killer_. You can see it, reel back for a final blow, a sound like a skull cracking under a bat, a taste like bones being torn away by a thousand-pound shear force of metal. 

That’s when those spidery fingers enter into your vision. Cold, pudgy fingers. Basil has always been a grabber. There’s something hot trickling down your face, like you’re crying like you’ve been crying your eye till its sore and crying again and you can only see a dull, hot red. You can taste a tinny whine on the blood in your mouth. His eyes glow and tremble in the moonlight.

“Please… stop struggling...”

In the moonlight, the last thing you see can’t be Basil in the moonlight again. 

You dig your fingers in your palm. You won’t let him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think~


End file.
